


Message Received

by Falcolmreynolds



Series: Stories of the Wide Sky Clan [4]
Category: Flight Rising
Genre: F/M, Gen, rip that relationship, well. not ANYMORE they aren't together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26965009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falcolmreynolds/pseuds/Falcolmreynolds
Summary: What finally shattered the bond between Duskrunner and Gallica, breaking them apart. Where that strange creature in the Deep Caves came from. Why Duskrunner never, ever remains at home, not anymore. Why he looks so haunted... and Gallica so angry.
Relationships: Duskrunner/Gallica
Series: Stories of the Wide Sky Clan [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768582
Kudos: 1





	Message Received

“How is it?” Duskrunner asked, quietly, poking his head into the cavern. Gallica was curled around a single egg in the center of a nest, humming softly to herself in her native tongue. She paused, thinking, and shifted one wing over it.

“Warm,” she said, with a peaceful, musical undertone ringing through her voice. “Happy, I think.”

“Good.” Duskrunner crept into the room and over to the next, sitting down on the floor and scooting over. He very, very gently reached out and tapped on the eggshell with one foreclaw; an answering  _ peep-peep _ came from inside. The hatchling was alive, alert, calling out to their parents. Duskrunner felt a little warm glow in his heart. It always felt like this, but this egg… this one felt  _ special. _ He gave a little hum, slightly out of tune, and Gallica winced. Dusk… wasn’t the greatest with coatl.

It was fine. Duskrunner bumped Gallica with his head. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, pulling back and standing. “Got a few messages to pass around before the week’s end. I’ll be gone for a few days - do you think…?”

“It won’t hatch until you get back,” Gallica said, shaking her head. “Unless, of course, you choose to stay away for more than a week.”

“Oh, good - I wouldn’t want to miss it!” Duskrunner bowed again and nuzzled his mate one more time. “I’ll see you soon, alright? I’ll be back.”

“Mhm.” Gallica nodded. “See you then.” She went back to humming, curled around the egg.

Duskrunner watched her for a moment, then turned and left the cavern, heading out towards the aviary and then onwards. He had a few messages to pick up and take out to other clans. Then he’d come back and be with Gallica.

He’d been apart from her too much lately; he didn’t get to speak with her often enough, and it felt like he didn’t really… know her that well anymore. She’d been off ever since…

Ever - ever since -

Duskrunner shivered. Kers wasn’t around to see, so he hunched his shoulders up and hurried through the halls with his head down. He didn’t like seeing his only remaining son. The others never really came around and visited - he didn’t know what had happened to them, not really - and Kers was…

...not normal. Anymore.

_ It wasn’t your fault, _ Burnish had told him.  _ Not entirely. You know you should have been there - but there was nothing you could do about the situation, given that you weren’t there. There’s no way to change what happened, now, so the best we can do is try to move on. _

The best advice that she could offer him given that. He shivered and kept moving. Gallica had blamed him for that, it seemed. She’d been furious and hurt - at how different Kers was than he had been before, at how none of their other children ever stayed unless they  _ had _ to, at how Duskrunner himself hadn’t been around enough.

It would be different for his hatchling, he told himself. It’d be different. He’d get… someone else to carry messages for a while. Maybe Kers could do it! He loved being a courier. Uh… probably. It was hard to read his emotions now. Even the skydancers couldn’t always manage it.

That didn’t matter. It would be  _ different _ this time. He’d be around - he’d help. He’d do everything he could. He wouldn’t screw this up again, not this last time, this last chance. He knew if this fell through, Gallica would never forgive him. But he wouldn’t let himself fail again. No - no, this hatchling would grow up so, so loved. He’d make sure of it.

Comforted by this, Duskrunner picked his head up, arriving at the apiary. He grabbed his messages and set out as the sun headed towards the horizon. Hah - he was running into the dusk. He smiled. He’d be back in a few days. Then? Then it was time to be with his family, for as long as they needed him.

* * *

“They’re nearly there,” Gallica purrs, tracing her claws over the eggshell. “Come on, little one. Come on… you can do it.”

The egg wriggled, shimmering green shell fracturing further. A hint of damp, dark feathers poked out below. Their last child of this clutch. Duskrunner had felt somewhat strained as of late, with their youngest prior to this clutch leaving and heading out to find the Windsinger’s army. Now, he and Gallica had one more egg, and in it, he held his hopes and dreams. Maybe this could bind them together again, the way they’d once felt around each other, the way they’d felt when she’d originally courted him.

The egg shifted again. Dark feathers, barely poked through the skin, and fluffy dark fur, as well as paler blue - the underbelly. Gallica cooed softly.

Hatching an egg took a great deal of time. Duskrunner stayed with Gallica the whole time, cooing to the hatchling, encouraging, smoothing down her worried, ruffled feathers. All of this was worth it when the egg’s large shell finally split, revealing the weaker one beneath, which fractured under the hatchling’s weak tapping and kicking. Out flopped a little bundle of black feathers and fur, soggy, peeping, little limbs flailing. Gallica immediately reached forward and began to clean the hatchling - a strong little wildclaw! Just like Duskrunner himself! - off with little licks and motions of her claws, businesslike and swift.

The hatchling’s lumpy form was overall the right shape, and a good size, healthy and -

...hold on.

Something wasn’t right. Duskrunner peered at the hatchling, baffled, and stayed confused until Gallica licked his head and he saw one bright green eye open up. “Wh -” he started, and then realized that the eye wasn’t exactly in the right place. It was very far back on the head, much too far back, nowhere near the socket. Duskrunner carefully reached forward and took hold of the little hatchling’s head, fear beginning to build in his heart. The hatchling’s head was normally shaped, though, and his bones all formed properly. The eye was just… extra.

And then he spotted another one, still closed, under the matted-down feathers and fur. And then another.

Duskrunner stepped back, horrified. Gallica glanced up at him, confused, then back down. She blinked, squinted, and stopped where she was.

“What is that,” she said, staring at the extra eye.

“There’s more,” Duskrunner said quietly. “More of them.”

Gallica went quiet, looking down. She began to clean the hatchling off again, with much stiffer movements.

As she did, Duskrunner saw another eye roll open and blink. It looked in different directions from the first one, independent. More and more, lining the hatchling’s sides, he saw extra eyes bulging out from beneath the blue and black coat, tucked underneath those deep purple wings. The patterning on those wings so looked like his own; he had to fight down tears. This baby was his own child. But - but it -

“It’s affected by the - the outer things,” he said, to Gallica. “Galli, it’s - it’s not -”

“He’s fine,” Gallica said.

“No,” Duskrunner countered. “Galli, you  _ know _ what this means. Dragons with eyes like this - they aren’t right. They aren’t normal, or real, or - they don’t turn out right. They aren’t even alive like the rest of us.”

Gallica stared at the hatchling, and Duskrunner could sense she was angry. “What do you want to do with it, then?” she murmured finally, her voice cold.

“I don’t know - we have to  _ contain _ things like this,” Duskrunner said, and winced as he said it. This was a hatchling! Just a  _ child! _ But he knew what happened to dragons with unnatural eyes. This dragon was a danger. One of his older children, Lethean, worked briefly with the dragons who fought in the Watch, protecting Sornieth from horrors. This little dragon  _ was _ one of those horrors. The eyes were aligned perfectly along his sides, almost as if he’d been beautifully designed. But this - this wasn’t right. This  _ child _ wasn’t right.

“We can’t,” he started, and shook his head. Silently, he stepped back.

Gallica’s voice was tight, hard. “Do what you will,” she said, not looking at him. “I’ll be here until you take him from me.”

So… she knew what Duskrunner was thinking. What they  _ had _ to do. They couldn’t let the child’s influence spread.

But he couldn’t - he couldn’t kill this child. His own son. His  _ own son. _ No! He couldn’t do that!

Just - they could contain him, maybe. Keep him safe. Away. And - and maybe, when he was older, they could…. Save him, or - or something. Duskrunner turned to the entry of the cavern and dashed out. There were several dragons who had been waiting to hear what happened, excited as Duskrunner had been about all this. They looked up when he exited, their faces bright, but they faltered when they saw his grim expression.

“Dusk?” Kevat asked, her grin fading to worry. “What’s - what’s wrong?”

“The,” he said, and tried not to hyperventilate. “The child, it, he - there’s eyes,” he choked out. “All along his sides - eyes, everywhere. I - we, we can’t -”

The assembled dragons exchanged a series of grave looks. “That’s not good,” one of them - Sahi, here to record the hatchling’s birthdate, for ceremony purposes - murmured, frowning. “Where’s Myrial?”

“We already know what that means,” Duskrunner hissed. “It means he’s influenced by things from  _ out there. _ ”

No one had to ask where ‘out there’ was. They all knew about the horrors from beyond the barrier. The Worldsea’s terrors. The horrible, awful things those terrors could do to other dragons - how the influence could spread, like a disease…

“What do we do?” asked Whirligig, her eyes wide and her voice hushed.

Duskrunner shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I - I just don’t know.”

“I’ll get Windracer,” someone started.

“No!” Duskrunner held out a wing, stopping the other dragon from running off. “No. I’ll - we can do this.”

“...what are you going to do, then?” Whirli asked. “We can’t - I mean, he’s… he’s a hatchling. How much damage could he really do?”

“You heard Lethean,” Duskrunner countered, shaking his head. “We can’t take any risks. None at all. We can’t… we can’t, for the sake of the clan.”

The room was quiet.

“We - if you want to… stop him from, um, growing,” Whirligig finally said, her expression soft but set, “I won’t let you.”

“N-no!” he could not,  _ would _ not kill his own son, newly hatched. “No. Never. Never, ever.”

“So what do we do?”

An image flashed through his mind - Aurelai and Aergid’s winter children, deep in sleep, down in the caverns underneath the Wide Sky clan’s territory. “The caves,” he said, seizing upon the idea. “We can put him down there. Asleep. Until - until we find something to do. Some way to… I don’t know, dampen his influence, or something like that. Some way to keep him from hurting anyone or himself or causing… problems.”

The others nodded. There wasn’t much that could be done now about this. Whirligig departed and returned a little while later with a calm, quiet Myrial. She listened to the story, then asked to enter the nesting chamber.

Duskrunner went back in first. Gallica had finished cleaning off the hatchling, who was sound asleep against her side - with all his  _ other _ eyes still open, staring about, blinking and watching. Myrial observed, not revealing a single hint of surprise. She looked the hatchling over.

“He’s my son,” Gallica said. “I won’t let you kill him.”

“We don’t intend to,” Myrial said, softly. “Dusk’s asked for us to contain him, for now. To lock him in sleep, down in the Deep Caves. He’ll be safe there, out of danger, and he won’t be able to spread his influence to anyone if we isolate him. He won’t be harmed, Gallica. It’s the only thing we can do to prevent him from hurting anyone, intentionally or not.”

Gallica stared, her green eyes narrowed. “You want to take my hatchling from me.”

Myrial grimaced; she knew this was hard. She’d had her own children, after all, and would’ve fought and killed to keep them safe too. “There’s nothing else we can do,” she said helplessly. “It’s that, or we let him spread the outer influence to everyone else in the clan.”

Gallica looked down, to the hatchling resting against her, breathing quietly. She stroked his swiftly-drying feathers and fur, silky soft to the touch, glossy black on top with patterning that mimicked hers with little stripes and Vs. That bright blue was due to her coloration, she knew, brightening up Dusk’s violet and blue. Duskrunner could see her running through the thoughts in her mind. The hatchling was a danger. She was not a fighter; she was a performer. Myrial, one of the clan’s finest mages, was both promising her last son’s safety and telling her it was necessary that she give him up. If she went against Myrial, she’d lose; she couldn’t fight to keep her son with her.

She nosed the little wildclaw gently, lovingly. “Fine,” she said, her voice hard and rough. “Fine. You want to take him from me so badly? Fine.” She glared at Duskrunner, tears in her eyes. “So be it. You can take him. But this is it, Duskrunner. No more of this.”

That’s what he’d thought would happen. He closed his eyes and nodded; this was more important. Protect the clan. There was nothing they could do for the hatchling now.

He stepped forward. Gallica hissed at him then, and he moved back. She got up and picked up the hatchling. “Don’t you lay a claw on him,” she snarled, and deposited the sleeping hatchling on her own shoulders. She raised her head. “I’ll take him,” she told Myrial. “But if you want to lock him away, I’ll take him there. None of you will touch him.”

So it was Gallica who walked in front of Duskrunner as he and Myrial went to the Deep Caves, and it was Gallica who waited while Myrial prepared the alcove he’d be in. Duskrunner watched as Gallica took the hatchling from her shoulders and walked into the alcove, then laid him down and stepped back.

The alcove was so big and the baby so very, very small. He’d just been born. He’d barely even been awake, despite the eyes that rolled and blinked and watched from his sides and neck and tail. The ones on the floor-side of his body closed reflexively, so as not to be hurt, but the ones elsewhere just kept looking around. But he was asleep, right? He was sleeping… surely he wouldn’t know what had happened. He wasn’t awake; he wouldn’t know what was going on. And - and they’d, they’d find something to save him soon. Right? They’d find…

...no. Duskrunner knew better than to expect them to save him in a matter of days. He knew better than to expect they could save him at all. He was going to stay here forever.

“If you want to take him from me,” Gallica whispered, her voice cold, “then do it.”

Myrial nodded. She stepped forward and wove the spell, activating a sphere of stasis around the hatchling, and slowly, Duskrunner watched the rise and fall of his little sides fade and slow, until he could barely see them moving at all.

“He will remain here,” Myrial said, watching. “Until such time as you fetch him back. You must do so only when you have a way to prevent him from altering others, or spreading his curse. Are you aware of this?”

“Yes,” Duskrunner said, nodding. Gallica did not answer.

“Be quick about finding such a thing, Duskrunner,” Myrial told him. “I do not like having this hatchling here, trapped. I do not like him being stuck in slumber. Find your answer and bring it back.”

Duskrunner already knew he wouldn’t find one. “I’ll do it,” he lied, bowing his head. “I’ll do everything I can. I’ll search, and I’ll - I’ll be back soon.”

“Be swift, and run with the Windsinger’s song at your back,” Myrial said, and bowed to him once more before leaving, her pearl clinkingin its sling at her side.

Duskrunner looked back to the sleeping hatchling. Through a haze of magic, he rested, unknowing, unaware. The eyes still looked out, but half-lidded now, hazy and tired.

A moment passed. “Galli,” Duskrunner started.

“Don’t speak to me,” Gallica said, softly. “You have nothing to say to me. Look.” She turned, glaring at him, and gestured at the hatchling with one wing. “This is  _ your fault. _ I know when you’re telling the truth, and when you’re lying; I know that much. You can’t save him, and you know it. You never meant to, and you don’t want to. You just want him never to have happened.”

“That’s not -”

“Stop it,” she snapped. “Everything you say is too little, too late. You are out of chances, Dusk. You’ve wasted your life and mine and you have nothing to show for it but your own dead children and  _ this.” _ Her feathers were fluffed up, her crests raised, furious. “Get out of here. I want some time with my son.”

Duskrunner backed away. Gallica didn’t look at him. He knew she wasn’t lying - she meant it when she said things like this.

He didn’t bother speaking. She’d heard enough out of him.

Turning, Duskrunner headed back down the tunnel, his heart burning in his chest. As he walked he took the dreams and hopes he’d had - finally being a family again, finally rekindling that bond he’d once shared with his mate - and he carefully, methodically packed them away into a little box and packed that little box away into a little room in his mind and shut the door and locked it.

It wasn’t for him. It just wasn’t for him. He’d tried to - he’d really, really meant to this time, he’d intended to be a good father, a good mate. But the gods had said no. The gods had cursed his hatchling with the eyes of the sea horrors and the mutated monstrosities that were fit only to be hunted and killed.

Duskrunner shook his head. It was never meant to be. He’d finally gotten things right and fate itself had taken it all from him.

...that was it, then. That was it. That was everything. He’d lost his last chance; he’d lost his child, and he’d lost Gallica. He had nothing left.

He found himself walking to the aviary, where the message-room was. Hilarious. Lost and purposeless, he’d just take up his duty as always. Maybe he ought to be a warrior again, now? Since Gallica wouldn’t want to see him safe any longer. The thought sent a pang of pain through him, and, stone-faced, he moved into the message-room. No. If he stopped being courier, the clan wouldn’t have one aside from Kers. He had to keep doing his duty.

At least that was something he could do right.

Duskrunner picked up an outgoing message-scroll and looked it over. Recipient, location. Fine. He could do this. He could do this.

There was no one else in the message-room, so no one saw him brush tears off his expressionless face as he sorted mechanically through the scrolls, found all of the ones going to the Labyrinth - as far away as he could manage - and tucked them into his bags. Then he turned, marked down where he was headed, and left the caverns, out into the night.


End file.
